Chapter 23 - Remember Death (5)
The cadets bustled about, getting ready for the evening party. Many had sweated so much during the city parade that they took another bath before anything else. Everyone put on the finest clothes they had brought when they first entered the academy, and some even wore wigs or put on makeup.
The minor noble cadets also dressed themselves up as best as they could. Coming from families wealthy enough to buy their noble status, they could afford to look good.
"Why are you two still in your cadet uniforms?"
So, at the Founding Declaration Day evening party held at the Imperial Military Academy, Ernest and Robert, who showed up in their cadet uniforms, looked strikingly out of place.
"Seriously, why are we in our cadet uniforms?"
"...Ah."
At Robert's heavy sigh, the others realized what must have happened.
Ernest and Robert had both brought nice new clothes when they first enrolled.
But during the initiation ritual by the senior students in the Cadet Corps, their clothes had been tossed to the floor along with ink bottles and completely ruined. While the academy issued new cadet uniforms to replace the ones the seniors tore, they couldn't replace civilian clothes.
"Are we the first cadets to ever attend the Founding Declaration Day evening party in cadet uniforms?"
"Probably not the first. Maybe."
In any case, with only pajamas and armor left as alternatives, Ernest and Robert had little choice but to attend the evening party in their cadet uniforms.
"I just wish, even once, you two could be considered normal..."
"Oh, I feel exactly the same way. Glad we're on the same page."
"Sigh..."
Instructor Norman Luther, Lieutenant, let out a deep sigh at Robert's words and pressed his forehead. In truth, everyone at the Military Academy knew about Ernest and Robert's situation. In particular, the instructors and disciplinary officers felt somewhat responsible, so none of them could bring themselves to blame the two.
"There'll be another party at the end of the year, so contact your family… your home, and ask them to send you new clothes before then,"
Norman advised while straightening Robert's collar. It was probably the first time an instructor had ever tidied up a cadet's outfit right before a party. Robert accepted this act of kindness as if it was only natural and shrugged his shoulders.
"What if, at that party too, an enemy infiltrates the Imperial Military Academy and launches an attack?"
"…Jimman, one day you're going to regret that mouth of yours. You really need to learn how to keep quiet. This is honest advice."
When Robert joked about what happened in the past, Norman startled, glanced around nervously, and earnestly warned him.
If they were overheard openly talking about such a notorious incident from the Cadet Corps' history, nothing good would come of it. It could even lead to real trouble. Depending on the situation, it might even be seen as an insult to Brigadier General Gauss Schulz, the Cadet Commander.
If the person here right now was a disciplinary officer instead of Instructor Norman, Robert's time at the academy could have ended in disaster.
"He's right, Robert. You really do need to watch what you say."
"I'll admit that, but shouldn't you be more careful with those damn eyes and hands of yours? You know what I mean, right"
Ernest tried to warn Robert, but Robert immediately fired back. The two cadets glared at each other.
"You're both the same, seriously… Get it together, will you."
Norman let out an exasperated sigh and nudged the boys toward the auditorium just as the party was about to begin.
When they arrived at the auditorium where the entrance ceremony had taken place, blue Balt Lighting and yellow flames sparkled, illuminating the hall brightly. Placing strong Balt Lighting on the ceiling allowed the entire auditorium to be evenly lit. But when that happened, the blue tint spread everywhere and strained your eyes. That's why the candlelight also had to be strategically balanced.
"…What is that outfit"
Ernest, signaling to Robert with his eyes, quietly asked while gesturing at what seemed to be a nobleman from a cadet's family. Robert glanced over, then whispered back into Ernest's ear.
"Why is he dressed like a clown?"
"…Yeah."
Ernest was genuinely confused: people in those brightly colored, ridiculously oversized clothes looked just like clowns. Aside from seeing festival clowns, he'd never come across anyone dressed like that before.
"Oh, Grimman Bumpkin. Tsk, tsk…"
Robert clicked his tongue at Ernest and explained.
"Noble clothes used to look like that. In the central regions of the Empire, fashions have completely changed, but in areas farther out, they still wear a lot of traditional styles like that. Commoners also stick to the old clothes."
"…But then why do clowns dress like that?"
"…Well, who knows."
Probably because it looks ridiculous, Ernest thought. But now wasn't the right moment to say that out loud, so he kept his mouth shut.
Having spent his whole life in Grimman, Ernest couldn't help but be amazed by the variety of clothing worn by people who had come from all over. It wasn't just those clown-like outfits; there were also many styles he had never seen before. Even their accents were strikingly different—though they all spoke the same language, the regional dialects were so strong that it sometimes sounded like a different language altogether.
For the first time, Ernest truly realized just how vast a land the Empire of Mihahil had conquered and now ruled. So many nations and peoples with entirely different cultures had been brought under the Mihahil Empire.
As Ernest got lost in observing the people entering the auditorium, he didn't notice that, in the midst of this dazzlingly decorated banquet hall, he and Robert—dressed neatly in their cadet uniforms—were attracting just as much attention themselves.
"Today is the glorious day Our Great Emperor declared the founding of the Mihahil Empire."
Headmaster Armin's voice rang out powerfully through the auditorium-turned-banquet hall. Ernest suddenly realized that everyone had fallen silent and was watching Armin, so he, too, turned his gaze to him. With his thick white hair and beard and gentle smile, Armin convincingly concealed the fact that he was a hardened soldier who had lived through war. To anyone looking at him, he just seemed like a kindly old grandfather.
"I won't keep you long. If those of you who have gathered here for today's event simply enjoy the party, that alone would be in service of His Majesty the Emperor and our glorious Empire."
When Armin raised his glass of wine, everyone else did the same. Unfortunately, Ernest, who had been completely detached from the party until now, found his hand embarrassingly empty. In the end, he could only awkwardly lift his empty hand.
'That traitor …!'
Even in that moment, Robert had dutifully managed to grab himself a glass. Ernest felt a fierce sense of betrayal.
"To His Majesty the Emperor."
"To His Majesty the Emperor!"
With Armin's words, the crowd responded, then, eager to enjoy the party—or more precisely, to seize meaningful encounters in this political arena—they started gathering in groups to chat and mingle.
"Couldn't you have said something to let me know I should raise a glass too?"
"Oh, sorry. You looked so absorbed, I didn't want to interrupt."
Robert snickered as he replied to Ernest's complaint, then belatedly handed him a glass. Ernest and Robert sipped the quality wine—watered down and strained of sediment—as they looked around the banquet hall.
"Hm, there's really nothing to do."
"Let's just eat."
With their families absent and knowing no one besides the other first-year cadets, the two boys found themselves at a total loss, even though this golden opportunity had thrust them into a party teeming with High Nobles, top officials, and senior officers.
This really is a rare opportunity. Right now, they could spend time together as fellow cadets, but after graduation, they would inevitably be separated by their respective statuses. For Ernest or Robert to have even a brief conversation with people like these after graduation would require tremendous effort.
But regardless of all that, the two boys—so conspicuous in their perfectly neat cadet uniforms—were far too absorbed in eating the buffet food laid out at the banquet hall to care about anything else.
"…What on earth are you two doing…"
"Oh, Wilfried. Do you want some too?"
Ernest, who'd been slicing and eating a perfectly roasted pheasant, brightened when Wilfried addressed them and, with almost unsettling precision, stripped the meat clean and offered it to Wilfried.
"…Um, not to be rude, but I don't think you two really understand how this works…"
Wilfried, accepting the plate Ernest had handed him, spoke with an embarrassed expression.
"At parties like this, this kind of food is mostly for display. It's not really meant to be eaten."
"…Why?"
At that shocking statement, both Ernest and Robert stared wide-eyed in surprise. As the Duke's son, Wilfried hesitated, trying to figure out how best to explain, then sighed lightly and offered a gentle smile.
"Sharing a meal is considered a rather personal act. So eating with someone here carries a lot of meaning. Especially in a setting like this, if you get oil or food on your hands, mouth, or clothes, it can appear improper. That's why generally, only drinks and light finger foods are actually meant to be consumed at parties."
"…Then why do they even bother putting out all this food?"
"It would be far too rude to greet guests without putting out any food."
"But no one actually eats it…"
"It's a formality, etiquette, and politics all rolled into one."
"But it tastes amazing."
"…So you two just needed an excuse to eat, is that it?"
As Wilfried answered Ernest and Robert's questions, he had a realization. These guys—really, they were just hungry.
"If we're not supposed to eat this, what are we supposed to do about dinner?"
"Exactly. This is our dinner tonight."
"Wilfried, you should eat too. You can't call a couple glasses of wine and some fruit a meal."
"That's right. Especially after the exhausting city parade today."
Grrr...
As Ernest and Robert kept pushing food toward him, Wilfried's stomach rumbled loudly, as if urging him to hurry up and eat something already. Embarrassed, Wilfried's face flushed as he quickly wrapped his arms around his stomach.
"Huh? What was that sound? That couldn't have been you, right, Wilfried?"
"What are you talking about? I didn't hear anything."
"Hey."
Robert even dared to joke with the Duke's son and tried to get Ernest to join in, but Ernest, who had already annoyed Wilfried quite a bit, chose the mature route and betrayed Robert.
"It's okay if we eat just a little, right?"
Ignoring Robert's glare, Ernest spoke quietly to Wilfried.
Wilfried stared silently at the pheasant meat on his plate.
Lost in deep thought, he gazed at the food in silence before murmuring in a low voice,
"All this food will be thrown out after the party is over."
Ernest and Robert looked at Wilfried.
"They say commoners starve to death all the time."
Even in the Empire's capital, Grimman, there were people dying of hunger. In the provinces and more underdeveloped villages, there were so many who didn't get even a single proper meal a day, and countless more who starved to death.
The Empire was truly powerful, but all its strength was focused solely on the military.
"If we're so well-off that we can use food just for decoration and throw it all away…"
Beneath his shining blond hair, Wilfried's blue eyes wavered deeply. His beautiful face was clouded with anguish, but slowly, as his confusion calmed, a clear light began to rise in his expression.
"Wilfried. What are you doing?"
"..."
But in that very instant, the color drained from Wilfried's face before whatever had been about to surface could emerge. Wilfried's blue eyes widened in surprise, then slowly, heavily, the light faded from them.
Clatter.
Wilfried set the plate he was holding down on the dining table. Ernest, catching a glimpse of Wilfried's face, was startled. He recognized that look on Wilfried's face—he had seen it before, when Wilfried had first invited him to the social gathering, and again when Ernest had made a mistake.
"Elder Brother."
With a smile as gentle as if painted on and a voice smooth as silk, Wilfried spoke. The man who met Wilfried's gaze as he turned around was strikingly handsome, so much so that one could hardly tell them apart; it was Adalbert Ravid, Wilfried's eldest brother and the Ravid family's next Duke.
Seeing Wilfried put down his plate of food, Adalbert's brow briefly furrowed, but then relaxed. For a moment, Adalbert's blue eyes swept over Wilfried's attire and, apparently satisfied, he blinked once.
"It seems you're doing well."
"Yes, I'm doing well," Wilfried replied, flashing his charming smile in response to Adalbert's flat words. Adalbert, observing his youngest brother—at least ten years younger than himself—watched him quietly while, with his large hands (which Wilfried had not yet grown into), he slowly stroked his well-groomed beard.
"Wilfried. I hate to say this," Adalbert said, his eyes cold. At those words, a crack appeared in Wilfried's beautifully crafted smile.
"But it seems you've gotten a little too comfortable just because you made it into the Military Academy."
"...."
Adalbert's eyes swept over Ernest and Robert. Robert didn't even dare to meet the gaze of the future Duke. But Ernest met Adalbert's eyes directly, unwavering.
Ernest offered a small smile.
"No, Wilfried is always working very hard."
"…Ernest."
Wilfried called out to Ernest in a tightly restrained voice at his words.
"At the last mock battle, he achieved the best results and received merit points. The instructor praised him highly, too."
"..."
Adalbert watched the bold Ernest—who dared to speak so directly to him—with a calm gaze. Then, as if something had just occurred to him, his eyes flicked over to Wilfried.
"I see. I'm glad to hear you're doing well."
Adalbert gave a slight nod. Wilfried felt as exposed as if he were standing naked—not because Ernest had spoken up for him, but for another reason.
At the beginning of the semester, Wilfried had contacted his family and asked them to look into Krieger. Ravid quickly learned about Krieger and relayed the information to Wilfried.
The shame and self-loathing Wilfried now felt stemmed from the fact that his eldest brother, Adalbert, had immediately seen through his scheme to use Ernest Krieger for his own benefit.
Adalbert's nod wasn't to acknowledge that Wilfried was doing well at the Military Academy. It was because he had realized that Wilfried fully understood his situation and was desperately fighting to survive in his own way.
For Wilfried, who would truly have to serve as a soldier after graduation, Ernest—the son of a living recipient of the Noble Heart Medal—could have been quite a valuable card to play. That was why he had approached Ernest, tried to draw him in, and ultimately failed. Yet somehow, despite all that, they'd become closer, and now here was Ernest, standing in front of Adalbert and defending Wilfried. From Adalbert's perspective, it must have looked as if all of this was a calculated result of Wilfried's maneuvering.
For Adalbert, the next Duke, such efforts to build human connections must have seemed terribly vulgar—something only those who grovel and flatter him would bother doing.
"I'll be sure to let Father know."
"…Yes, Elder Brother."
At Adalbert's calm words, Wilfried replied in a small, rough voice, as if he could barely breathe. Adalbert looked down at Wilfried for a moment, then furrowed his brow slightly.
"Act like Ravid's son, Wilfried."
With that, Adalbert walked away at an unhurried, elegant pace, not even waiting for Wilfried's reply.
Almost immediately, a crowd gathered around him—people struggling to say even a single word to him—until Adalbert disappeared completely from sight.
"Your brother seems to worry about you a lot," Ernest commented.
"Ernest, maybe we should take a little time to shut up together," Robert quickly interjected.
As Ernest whispered softly to Wilfried, Robert dragged Ernest away, since Wilfried was glaring at him with real menace.
"Ernest. Student. I'm delighted to teach you that sometimes, staying silent really is the best option."
"What? Why?"
"That fact that you don't get it—that's your problem."
"But Wilfried's elder brother was worried about him."
"In what universe…!"
Robert had to clench his fists to keep himself from grabbing Ernest by the collar.
"You can't just take a noble's words at face value…! And besides, how can you possibly interpret the situation that way…!"
Struggling not to raise his voice at Ernest in the banquet hall, Robert whispered furiously. Ernest started to protest, but then he noticed Wilfried standing there, face ghostly pale, staring at the floor, and fell silent.
"…Well, I'll get going then. Don't eat too much."
A moment later, Wilfried smiled as if nothing had happened, said his usual goodbye, and, just like his eldest brother, strolled away at a relaxed pace toward the other cadets. He didn't even glance at the food.
"Yeah, this is your fault."
"…Well, I— I guess…"
Before Ernest could even ask, Robert clicked his tongue and answered. Ernest hesitated, uncertain, then ended up saying nothing.
From Ernest's perspective, it really did seem like Adalbert paid Wilfried a lot of attention. After all, if that weren't the case, Adalbert wouldn't have come looking for his younger brother as soon as he entered the banquet hall, scanning the room for him, and approaching Wilfried first—even though others were clearly waiting for him.
Still, Ernest couldn't be sure if Adalbert was truly worried about Wilfried. Maybe he was just worried about Ravid's honor.
Ernest and Robert didn't eat any more food. Part of it was because they'd lost their appetites, but mostly they were worried about how they looked. The meat Ernest had cut for Wilfried was left to grow cold on the plate.
In the end, with nothing else to do, the two boys leaned against a corner of the auditorium and chatted idly about random things.
"When do we get to go back to the dormitory?"
"I'm not sure… After the party ends?"
"Isn't that too late? Should we just sneak out now?"
"Should we? Nobody's paying attention to us, and if we go now, I think we could get away with it…"
"All right, Ernest. Now's your chance to show your skills. Be as stealthy as possible."
"In that case, I should just leave you behind and go alone…"
"Hey."
"Let's move little by little."
"That's not going to happen."
A deep voice interrupted the scheming of the two boys, who desperately wanted to go back to the dormitory and sleep. Ernest, so busy whispering with his head close to Robert's, didn't notice someone silently approaching from behind, and he jumped in surprise as he spun around.
Leaving his back to Robert had been a truly foolish mistake.
"...Hea—Headmaster."
Ernest hoped he had simply misheard, but unfortunately, the voice he'd just heard really did belong to Headmaster Armin Mannheim. Among all these people, Armin's position was extraordinary—one of the most esteemed here—so how he had managed to sneak up on them so quietly was anyone's guess.
"I'm sorry! It's just—!"
Robert, his face drained of color, tried to stammer out an explanation, but when Armin gave him an inscrutable smile and looked at him calmly, Robert's mouth snapped shut on its own.
"Bored, are you? Krieger, Jimman."
"...Y-yes, sir..."
Ernest wanted to deny it, even if it was a lie, but as soon as he met Armin's black eyes, the truth just escaped his lips.
Fortunately, instead of punishing the two cadets for plotting to sneak out of such an important event, Armin simply smiled warmly at them.
But to Ernest, that was what truly scared him. Armin had leveled the entire Cadet Corps with that same gentle smile.
"..."
And in that moment, Ernest could clearly sense an inexplicable intensity hidden behind Armin's soft, smiling eyes.
He realized that Armin was observing him with unnerving attention, masked behind that kindly expression, and that he must have approached them so stealthily with a particular purpose in mind.
"I see. Well then, would you like to hear an interesting story?"
No.
...was what Ernest wanted to say, but unfortunately, if Armin decided otherwise, there was nothing Ernest and Robert could do about it.
"Yes, Headmaster."
Ernest and Robert, breaking into a cold sweat, answered together, and Armin chuckled as he leaned comfortably beside them. When Armin folded his arms, his clothes seemed ready to burst from his massive muscles.
In that moment, Ernest felt a chill run down his spine. Armin's eyes grew a little distant, as if staring off into the void, and the atmosphere suddenly changed. It felt as though a giant predator was crouching silently, watching him with icy focus.
Armin Mannheim really was a terrifying man. He was a silent hunter, a ruthless killer, and a loyal soldier.
"Krieger, I met your father, Haires Krieger, on the battlefield once."
"...What?"
But Ernest's fear vanished instantly at Armin's low voice.
"Now are you interested?"
"Yes!"
At Armin's question, Ernest's eyes lit up as he answered. Robert, panicked, prodded Ernest in the side as if trying to warn him, but Ernest didn't even notice.
Haires had never told Ernest stories about the past. Not even once.
Ernest was genuinely curious about his father's days as a war hero, the same father who had accomplished so much that he'd been awarded the Noble Heart Medal in his lifetime.
"Hmmm..."
Armin let out a long sigh and stroked his thick beard. His dark eyes wandered back to a scene from the distant past.
"The first time I met Haires Krieger was 26 years ago, in a forest drenched by a torrential downpour."
Armin Mannheim had never forgotten that memory, even after all these years.
"It was back when ranks weren't even organized like they are now. I was just a commander, and Haires Krieger was…"
An unreadable emotion flickered across Armin's face. Despite being a memory from 26 years ago, the recollection still brought him a kind of joy only found in astonishing moments from the past.
"At just twenty years old, he was already a commander like me. The problem was that he hadn't been granted official command, so the very act of leading troops was considered treason."
"What?" Ernest said, startled.
Armin smiled kindly at the confused Ernest.
"In other words, at the time, Haires Krieger was pretending to be a commander and personally leading troops. Because of that, he was accused of treason and came close to being executed on the spot by my own hand, Ernest Krieger."